


Land and Sea

by AtmosphericFantasy



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericFantasy/pseuds/AtmosphericFantasy
Summary: “I brought you here after finding you in the ocean. I thought you were drowning so I-”He scoffed noisily at your words, a cruel smirk pulling up his lips.“I didn't realise you weren't human.” He didn't respond, merely tilted his chin up, the smirk fading as his eyes roamed over your body. You almost squirmed under his heavy gaze.





	1. Clear

The rain was coming down hard on the windshield. Each droplet fell against the glass like it was trying to break through. You drove slowly along the bends of the desolate coastal road. The noise of the heavy rain almost drowned out how furiously the wipers were working against the windshield. As the road straightened out, you looked briefly over to the ocean, the waves were crashing against the beach. 

It would have been impossible to look at the ocean the same way as you did before after what happened a few months ago. Aquaman, Atlantis, the waves that had thrown millions of tons of trash back onto land where it belonged. They tried to downplay it all, tried to dismiss the truth as mere conspiracy, but you couldn't ever get past the fact that warships had also been washed ashore. A clearer statement couldn't have been made in your eyes. 

People had died from the tidal waves. But then, how many had died in the oceans from the pollution, the oil spills, the wrecks and everything else humans had dumped? The media desperately attempted to quell the growing unrest as many wanted payback for the lives that had been taken. It had not been the best of introductions between two worlds. 

Forcing yourself to concentrate, you turned back to the road and navigated around a large puddle. A particularly strong gust of wind made your fingers latch tighter onto the steering wheel. Driving past it without incident, you looked backed to the ocean and spotted something brightly-coloured in the water, not far from the beach. Your stomach ached when you realised it was a person. 

Bringing the car to a stop, you wondered whether it was a body until you saw movement. You were frozen for a brief moment before you ripped off the seat belt and jumped out of the car. The rain was blinding so you had to hold a hand on your brow to see. It only took a few seconds to get completely soaked. You quickly headed towards the sea wall and slid down it, banging your elbow on a rock near the bottom. When your feet hit the sand, you sprinted across the beach towards the water, tearing off your jacket along the way. Before reaching the waves, you wrenched off your jeans and boots so they couldn't weigh you down. 

With the tide coming in and the person only forty yards out, you should have a fighting chance to get them back onto shore. Wading into the water, you barely registered how cold it was as you focused on where they were. A wave crashed against you, forcing you backwards a few steps. As the wave went back out, you laid down in the water so it would take you along with it. 

When you were out deep enough, you swam towards them as fast as you could and stopped after a half a minute. Treading in the water, you looked for them in the waves. They'd stopped moving, they were face down in the water. Were you too late? 

You rushed over to them, swallowing a mouthful of water in your panic. You pulled their arm, twisting them over onto their back before wrapping an arm over their chest. Keeping their head above water, you swam back to land, struggling to stay on the surface. A wave caught you off guard so you swallowed even more water, but you desperately kept going, kicking your legs as hard as you could. It seemed to take ten times longer getting back to shore than it did initially reaching them, but you finally made it back. When the water was shallow enough, you took to your feet and dragged them onto the beach. It turned out to be a man, a heavy one at that. You stopped when you were beyond the reach of the oncoming waves. 

Crouching down beside him, you raised his chin before giving five rescue breathes. After each one, you turned to see his chest rising and deflating. No response. Interlocking your fingers, one hand on top of the other, you began CPR, ensuring that your elbows were locked straight. As your hands sank down, you ignored the squeamish sensation of pushing so hard into his chest. You counted four compressions when the man regained consciousness and spewed water from his mouth. 

The amount that had come up from his lungs was alarming to say the least. He noisily sucked in air, bright eyes flicking open for a few seconds before he slumped unconscious. 

You raised his chin, and lowered your ear to his mouth and nose to check he was still breathing. Thankfully he was so you laid back on the sand, exhausted from your efforts. Your body was trembling with adrenaline, you could feel it across your chest. Your hands were shaking too. Staring at the man while you calmed down, you wondered what the fuck he was doing out in a storm like this. 

He was wearing a tight skin, white-coloured wet suit of some kind that seemed to be covered with. . .were they scales? Surfers didn't wear anything like this, it was too elaborate, too detailed- 

The quiet realisation dawned on you, could he be one of them from the ocean? No, that wasn't possible. He looked utterly human. How was he able to breath air? Before you could work out whether he was an ocean dweller, you saw red begin to puddle at his sides. Putting one hand on his hip, and the other on his knee, you gently rolled him onto his side into the recovery position. 

There was a gash on his back that was over a foot long going from his shoulder blades down and across to his waist. The blood seeped continuously out from the wound. Swearing under your breath, you clambered over to where you'd thrown your jacket and ran back to him. The rain hurt as it splashed against your face and bare legs. You managed to tie the jacket around him and cover most of the wound, but it wasn't good enough. What the fuck were you going to do with him? There was no signal around here, the phone in your car would be useless, you wouldn't be able to call for help. You'd have to take him to the emergency room yourself. What if he turned out not to be human, what would happen to him then? Would they keep him as a prisoner, a hostage, as a lab experiment to test their weaknesses? Your wild imaginations were going to get him killed. No, he was human, he almost drowned. 

You needed to take him to the hospital and wondered how the fuck were you going to get him to your car. You couldn't drag him on his back, couldn't drag him on his front as his feet would dig into the sand. With no other option, you knelt down beside him before pulling at one of his arms. Lowering yourself to the ground, you kept pulling until he was on your back. You grabbed onto his other arm and used your hips to lift him off the sand. Fuck he was heavy. After the first unsteady step, you managed to get into a rhythm, one step after the other. 

As you were nearing the sea wall, your legs began to tremble and you desperately wanted to put him down. You had to keep going, you had to. Finding the shallowest incline along the wall, you made your way up, almost losing your footing near the top. When you made it, you slowly lowered him onto the ground by the road before collapsing beside him. Placing your hand on his chest, you were relieved he was still with you. 

After a few minutes trying to catch your breath, you knew you had to move. You made it back to your car which was still running and slid into the seat, ignoring how wet it was going to get. Down to a shirt and underwear, your body began to shake again, this time from the cold rather than adrenaline. Shivers racked up your spine and you turned the heater up to the max. You got out of the car after parking as close to him as possible. You picked him up underneath his shoulders so you could carry him up into the back seats. You grunted in exertion but couldn't manage to lift him up. Whatever strength you had seemed to have gone. Repositioning yourself onto the seat, you took a few deep breaths before wrapping your legs around him and lifting him up into the car. You pulled him all the way across the seats before turning him over so he laid on his front. 

The jacket had come loose so you began to retie it but paused when you noticed that the top part of the wound had scabbed over. What. . .the fuck? It was bleeding before, you were certain of it. How had he. . .

Your gut reaction was right, he wasn't human at all. You couldn't take him to the hospital. It wouldn't be safe.

Tying the jacket as hard as you could, you got into the front seat and slammed the door beside you, finally out of the rain. You turned around, staring at him with wide eyes, knowing that his life was in your hands. The repercussions of him not being human slowly began to sink in. Fuck, fuck you had to go. Now. 

Wiping your face, you drove off down the road and held a hand flat against the heater to warm yourself up. Shivers clenched at the muscles in your back and the sensation was nothing but painful. You had to force yourself not to press down too hard on the accelerator. If you swerved or hit the breaks too hard, he'd come flying off the seats. 

Tilting down your rear view mirror, you kept checking on him to see if he woke up, but he was completely out of it. The road headed off further inland, and you were only a few miles from home now. You couldn't afford a house right by the beach, and after so many were destroyed by the tidal wave, you were glad you weren't able to. The wind eased up the further you drove away from the ocean, but the rain never let up. 

Oddly you didn't feel relief when you made it to your house. You still had to get him inside. 

You headed for the front door, deciding you needed to sort yourself out before carrying him again. Peeling off the wet clothes, you wiped yourself with a towel before putting on something dry. You grabbed some blankets and took a few pillows off the sofa to set up an improvised bed on the floor in the living room. It would have to do for now. You laid out another towel on top of the blankets before picking up the first aid kid, checking there were bandages, antiseptic and tuff cuts scissors. 

Putting on some shoes and a waterproof jacket, you braced yourself as you headed to the car, telling yourself you didn't have far to go. You'd made it all the way across the beach with him, up the sea wall, you could make it to your house. As you awkwardly tried to pull him off from the seats and onto your back, you leaned heavily against the door frame. Breathe. Breathe. 

You groaned as you lifted him up and began the slog to the front door. It couldn't have been more than fifteen steps, look there's three, four, five. You counted every step, and your estimate was wrong. With him on your back, your stride was shortened, it was well over twenty by the time you made it inside. 

Setting him down onto the bed, you manoeuvred him onto his front. You untied the jacket, discarding it onto the floor. The wound wasn't bleeding as much, and another inch or so of scab had formed. He wasn't human, but he certainly bled like one. You put on a pair of nitrile gloves and placed two large bandages across the gash, using your knee to keep pressure on it. Some of the suit was frayed and was pressing into the wound. You took the scissors, placing them onto the material of his suit right by the wound. As you were about to cut, the scissors didn't go through. You checked the blade, it was sharp, it should cut. 

You tried again to no avail. Whatever the suit was made out of was far too strong. Throwing the scissors onto the floor, you picked up the antiseptic, wondering whether his body might react to the chemicals. How did living under water affect your immune system? He was healing so quickly already, perhaps it would be best to let his body do the work. 

Forgoing the antiseptic, you peeled off the two bandages, and used a towel to dry around the wound before putting on two new ones, pushing the ragged material out of the way. You managed to stick them on with medical tape, and wrapped a towel around him. You pulled him up onto his side, leaning him up against a pillow. Tilting his chin up, you made sure his airway was open before beginning a head-to-toe examination. 

You checked his pulse, but you didn't have a clue what would be normal for him. It seemed steady, so you began to survey his body. On his head, there was a small cut which was already scabbed over. His neck and shoulders were clear. Aside from his back, the rest of his torso seemed fine. It was when you reached his legs that you found more injuries. There was a burn across his inner thigh and another on his lower calf. 

The material of his suit had melded into the healing wounds, leaving no choice but to pull it all out. You cringed as you tore at his flesh, causing him bleed even more. You tried your best, but you didn't know if you'd gotten all of the material out and you weren't going to cut into him to find out. You used duct tape to stick the loose edges of the suit down so they wouldn't interfere again and wrapped bandages around his thigh and calf. 

You collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent from the last. . .how long had it been now since you spotted him in the ocean? An hour? It felt like days. You were coming home from an seemingly endless day at work, frustrated by how much effort you put in, and how little your colleagues did. You'd wanted to enjoy the storm in the solitude of your house, away from the complaining customers and how you were not being paid enough to deal with them. 

After a while, you headed to the kitchen though you couldn't summon an appetite. You poured yourself a strong drink instead, wincing as the alcohol burned down your throat but immediately pouring another. You stared mindlessly at the man lying on your living room floor. 

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?


	2. Focus

You woke up on the sofa, feeling like you hadn't slept at all. For a fleeting moment, you wondered why you weren't in bed until you saw him lying on the floor beside you. He hadn't moved. 

Wiping your eyes, you groaned in pain as you sat up, you were aching everywhere. Yesterday had taken it out of you completely. You stared at the man, taking in his pale skin and blonde hair that had now dried. You didn't cover him with a blanket, assuming that he was used to the cold of the ocean. 

It was so bizarre how you had normalised the situation, offhandedly forgoing a blanket because he might be too hot. He wasn't human. You didn't understand what his needs were, only guess. As you stared at him for a long while, you began to contemplate what he would actually need. Would he eat fish? Would he need seawater to drink? You'd kept the curtains shut so there wouldn't be too much sunlight coming in. You'd need to get him food and water. 

You hobbled over to the kitchen, pouring out a glass of water and seeing if you had any fish in the freezer. Would he only be able to eat it raw? You couldn't leave him to buy some, not until he was conscious and understood where he was. When the time came, you could go to the store or even the market to get something. But how could he let you know what he wanted? You wouldn't speak the same language as him. Breathing out a frustrated sigh, the questions kept popping into your mind. 

You laid out the glass a few feet from him, and checked over his wounds. He hadn't bled through the bandage on his back, but it still needed changing. You put on some medical gloves and crouched beside him before gently pulling back the bandage to take it off. The wound had mostly scabbed over, it was quite a feat to witness considering the mess it was yesterday. At the lower end, part of the gash was bleeding slightly. 

Reaching over to grab some gauze from the kit, you saw movement in the corner of your eye. Before you could turn back to him, the wind was knocked out of you as he surged forward, pinning you underneath him. His hands wrapped around your throat, expression filled with rage as he clamped down, his eyes dark and wild.

You automatically grasped onto his hands, hopelessly trying to pull him away from you but they didn't budge at all. Forcing yourself to pull your hands away, you held them still above you in an attempt to convey that you meant no harm. He didn't let up, he was utterly focused. His lips curled into a snarl. Pressure built across your cheeks and forehead. You felt the terrifying and distinct sensation of lacking oxygen. 

Knowing you had little time left, you wrapped your legs around him. You dug your thumbs into his eyes and at the same time you slammed the heels of your feet against the wound in his back. He cried out in pain, and the hold around your neck loosened enough for you to take in a raspy breath. You moved your legs to his chest and kicked him off your body. He landed heavily beside you, groaning loudly in pain as he covered his eyes with his hands.

You desperately sucked in air and crawled away from him to put space between you. He moved his hands away from his face, his eyes were clenched shut. He turned towards you, somehow knowing exactly where you were even though he couldn't see. 

“Surface dweller,” he grunted in anger, hands clenching into fists. Before you could scramble further away, his arm darted out and latched onto your ankle, wrenching you back towards him. Your other foot connected with his face, and he slumped unconscious, his body half on top of yours. 

You shoved him off of you before getting to your feet. You half ran to the kitchen, pressing your body up against the counter and watching the man lay motionless. You were okay, you were okay. He'd almost. . .

Sliding down onto the floor, you wrapped your arms around your knees, unable to control yourself shaking. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't understand. But how could he speak English? Did he not understand you were showing him that you meant no harm? 

He was so strong. If it wasn't for the wound in his back, you wouldn't have stood a chance. It took you a long time to build up the courage to go back to him. His back was bleeding again, you had to put on a new bandage. You quickly covered the wound with fresh bandages, pulling away the moment you were done. You didn't bother to adjust how he was laying, in fear of waking him up again. 

You didn't know if the impact of your foot against his face had broken his nose. It didn't matter, you weren't going near him again unless it was absolutely necessary. Not after that. 

An hour must have passed before you walked out to your car and grabbed your phone. You cracked open all of the windows to let some air in to dry the seats. Luckily you had the day off, but you rang up your boss saying you wouldn't be able to make it in for the next couple of days, citing a family emergency. You ended the call before too many questions could be asked, saying that you were needed. 

After the call, you could barely take your eyes away from him, anxious about what would happen when he woke up. You might have broken his nose, blinded him for all you knew. Rather than helping with his injuries, you merely kept adding to the list. It was difficult not to regret your decision taking him in, but you tried to see things from his perspective. He'd obviously been attacked before you found him, by something, or someone. 

He'd woken up surrounded by air rather than water, he was probably terrified, and yet he didn't show even an ounce of fear as he nearly suffocated you. It was probably survival instincts, he fought as he was unable to flee. You shouldn't hold it against him. You tried your best not to.

You managed to eat some food in the afternoon, barely tasting any of it. You struggled to pull the sofa against the wall, your body still aching from the day before, worsened by what happened earlier. Your neck would hurt if you moved it too quickly and even if you held it still, there was a dull ache where his hands had been.

Settling onto it, you figured you'd put enough space in between you and him. If he managed to get to his feet, there was the option to run out the back. You almost smiled at the thought, wondering how this had come down to planning how to escape your own house. 

The hours passed quickly and before you knew it the sun had began to set. The hazy light streaming into the kitchen faded away into darkness. You turned on the light by the front door and didn't bother to put on anymore. He was probably sensitive to light, more so after you had almost gauged his eyes out. You were hesitant to turn on the TV, or any other noise that might disturb him. For someone who you'd try to save, you really didn't want him to wake up. 

As the night wore on, you were barely able to keep your eyes open. You needed to sleep. You didn't want to leave him in case he needed you. It took a long time to convince yourself you had to get some rest. Mostly you were worried about what would happen when he woke up. 

You withdrew to your bedroom, propping a chair underneath the door handle to keep it shut. Wrapping the duvet around your body, you ignored the urge to wash as you could smell the brine in your hair and on your skin. You closed your eyes tight, ears straining to listen out for anything, thoughts drifting to that merciless look in his eyes. 

\- - -

Waking up, you knew you had a nightmare, though you weren't quite sure what it had been about. The dread was unsettling and you knew you wouldn't go back to sleep for a long while. It took only a few moments to get out of bed, and peeking through your windows you noticed it was still dark outside.

You removed the chair from the door, and went to the living room. The man was still on the floor but he'd moved onto his side. It didn't seem as if he'd moved anymore than that. 

You quietly retreated to the bathroom, desperate to wash. As you undressed, you saw the state of yourself. There were dark bruises either side of your neck, one on your elbow, another on the back of your hip, several across your ankle. Was that from his hand? That brief moment he'd dragged you towards him? 

Wearily looking over to the door, you quickly showered and dressed yourself into clean clothes when you'd finished. You walked to the living room so you could check whether he'd moved at all on the floor. Your heart ached when you saw that he was conscious. He was half sitting up, hands reaching around to his back. He spotted you immediately and glared at you, seemingly uninjured even after what had happened. His expression deformed with anger yet again, though this time it was far more contained, but you're not sure if that's better.

“You,” he murmured, getting up onto his knee. 

“You're safe here, okay? I don't want to hurt you,” you told him, raising your hands up in surrender. “That's what this means.” Thankfully he stopped trying to stand. He watched you carefully, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was trying to ascertain the truth. 

“I brought you here after finding you in the ocean. I thought you were drowning so I-” 

He scoffed noisily at your words, a cruel smirk pulling up his lips. 

“I didn't realise you weren't human.” He didn't respond, merely tilted his chin up, the smirk fading as his eyes roamed over your body. You almost squirmed under his heavy gaze but made yourself continue to explain. 

“There was a cut on your back but I couldn't take you to the hospital because you're. . . uh. . .I- I tried my best to stop the bleeding. I was changing your bandages when you. . .woke up.” 

“I do not require your primitive healing methods, surface dweller.” You balked at his words, shocked that he didn't apologise for what he did. Did he not remember? 

“You. . .hurt me.” 

“A natural reaction.” The growing frustration at his smug attitude almost had you demanding an apology. It was difficult to retain the fact that he wasn't familiar with your culture, even if he knew your language. He didn't seem to understand how manners worked within societal interactions. Perhaps he did, but as a surface dweller you didn't deserve those niceties, in his eyes. 

You wished he acted differently, that he was more open. You would have asked what his name was, asked about where he was from, what had happened to him, but you could only imagine what his derogatory response would be if you tried to ask. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the matter at hand. 

“Look, when you're better, I'll take you back to where you belong and you can forget you were ever here.” 

He shifted himself up onto his knees before trying to stand up. Did he not realise both of his legs had been injured? You naturally went over to assist him. 

“I do not need your help,” he growled through clenched teeth. You paused in front of him as he tried to take to his feet. He lost his footing and you managed to grab onto him before he fell onto the floor. Slipping your arms underneath his shoulders, you slowly lifted him up, arms protesting at the exertion. 

“I know,” you muttered, trying to placate him. Thankfully he didn't resist as you helped him over to the sofa. Sitting down next to him for a moment, you leaned backwards to take a look at his wound. 

“You're bleeding again.” 

“It will heal.”

“It would be better if I covered it, so you can heal properly.” Grabbing the med kid again, you were down to the last pair of gloves, but you still had a good supply of gauze and bandages. You'd have to stock up soon. He avoided looking in your direction while you put on the gloves. You carefully peeled off the bandages you'd hastily applied, disappointed at the poor job.

“Are you prone to infection?” You queried, wondering whether he'd accept antiseptic, or even antibiotics. As you waited for a response, you mopped up the blood and scrubbed off what had dried into his skin. He still hadn't replied even after you'd taped on the new bandages. 

“You've probably healed over frayed bits of your suit. I tried to pull them out but I might have missed some.” 

“It will heal,” he repeated, his tone utterly venomous. Letting out a sigh, you quickly gathered up everything, the old bandages, the wipes you'd used, the gloves, and dumped it all in the trash. Hiding in the kitchen for a few minutes, you had to pull yourself together. He's hurt, he's vulnerable, he's in an entirely foreign environment. You would have to be patient with him. Concede when he would not. 

“Do you eat fish?” You asked on your way back to him. His hand was clutching the arm of the sofa, knuckles white with tension. He nodded silently, expression pursed with something almost akin to pain. 

You found some in the back of the freezer, and ran it under some water to defrost. After drying the fish, you tried to make it look as presentable as possible on a plate. You grabbed a fork before going back to him. His stare made you feel physically uncomfortable until he thankfully looked down, distracted by the food you offered. He looked almost offended. 

“What have you done to it?

“It was frozen.” 

“Frozen?” He spat, turning his nose up at the food. “You expect me to eat that? Prisoners are fed better than this.” Somehow his words were making you feel ashamed. Your cheeks were starting to burn. 

“It's all I have. I can get something fresh in the morning.” 

“You will not leave me unaccompanied.” 

“It's not that far to drive, it wouldn't take that-” 

“Are surface dwellers' intelligence as poor as their hearing?” Your fingers pressed harder against the plate, teeth grinded together at his obstinance. He spoke again before you could go back to the kitchen. 

“I need water.” You picked up the glass from the floor to hand to him. 

“Fresh water. The air has made it stale.” 

Chucking the fish into the refrigerator, you emptied out the glass to fill it for him, hoping that it would suffice. 

“Another,” he ordered after draining it a few seconds. He handed back the glass without so much as a thankyou. After refilling it, you pulled out a second glass to fill it up too. You hoped that perhaps his grouchiness was a sign of healing rather than a personality trait. You didn't feel like you were in a position to deny him, even though a small part of you wanted to, on account of his rudeness. 

He drained one glass before almost draining the second. You tried not to let your face convey the frustration in your gut when he didn't thank you for either of them, merely giving back the one he'd emptied. His eyes dredged up and down your body until he settled his focus on your neck. 

“Your human bodies are so weak,” he muttered, almost as if he was commenting to himself. 

“I suppose living in an atmosphere has evolved us that way,” you replied nonchalantly. He seemed almost disappointed that you didn't engage him. There was something almost infinitely antagonistic about him, like he'd held a century's long grudge against humans, or surface dwellers as he called you. You could understand his resentment to a point, with all the waste humans had dumped into the ocean, into his home, but it was like he was holding you personally responsible for it. 

He kept trying to implore you to fight, to argue for humanity so he could easily crush your response into pieces. Maybe. . .maybe humans had attacked him? It would explain how he was acting. 

You wiped at the back of your neck self-consciously, knowing how bad the bruises looked. 

“You humans are so frail, even the slightest pressure causes injury.” Slight pressure? He held out the glass wordlessly, expecting you to take it from him again. You complied reluctantly, taking it over to the sink. You stood motionless for a few seconds, remembering how his hands had wrapped around your throat, how you couldn't breathe, how his grasp had left bruises across your skin that still hurt. And he'd called that slight pressure. 

“We'll get some food in a few hours when it's light,” you told him when you came back. He sighed in response but didn't feel the need to comment. Standing awkwardly in the living room, you watched as he shifted himself in the sofa, clearly uncomfortable.

“Do you want to uh. . .sleep in my bed? It will be more comfortable.” He nodded at you after thinking for a long moment. You grabbed onto his waist and pulled his arm around your neck, clutching onto his wrist to even out the weight. As you lifted him off the sofa, your grip on his wrist slipped down over the base of his thumb before his fingers intertwined tightly with yours. The movement made you pause for a brief moment, taken back by how cool his touch was. You shook yourself from the thought when he moved forwards.

He was only able to put some weight on his less injured leg so he leaned on you heavily. You weren't able to hide your rapid breaths as you struggled to make it to the bedroom. You were exhausted by the time you'd made it halfway. He kept mostly quiet, but you could hear the low rumblings in his throat like he was holding back a groan. Concentrating on him didn't have you so focused on the aches in your legs. 

It wasn't long before you made it. In the low light of the bedroom, you could see his features contorting in pain as you laid him out carefully onto the mattress.

“I have some painkillers, I don't know if you'd be allergic to them. . .” 

“They will have no effect on me.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, wanting to make him more comfortable, adjust the duvet, arrange the pillows to support him laying on his side. He didn't seem to want your company any longer. “I'll see you in a few hours.” 

\- - - 

You were too wired to sleep, too exhausted to give the kitchen a thorough clean and keep yourself occupied. All you could manage was gathering up the blankets from the floor and throwing most of them into the washing machine. You'd put it on later, not wanting the noise to wake him up. 

Watching the sun rise out of a window, you thought about how he had been so reluctant to accept your help. He was very physically fit, the suit didn't hide anything. It was like his muscles had been sculpted onto him. It must have been so disorientating for him to be incapacitated, to breathe in air rather than water. And being helped by a human? A surface dweller? No wonder he was so standoffish. 

You wondered what time you should check on him. You were certain that if he needed anything, he'd let you know the moment he did. It was almost noon when you checked up on him, carefully tiptoeing to your bedroom. He was still, more than likely asleep. You found yourself back on the sofa rubbing the muscles of your legs, hoping that it might alleviate the ache just a little. 

A while later, you checked on him again, and found that he was awake. You felt the sinking of disappointment along with the odd thrill of anticipation in your gut. 

“How are you feeling?” You asked, slowly approaching the bed, careful to move where he could see you. He grimaced and sat up in the bed, hand wiping at his eyes.

“Thirsty. . .hungry.” You hurried to the kitchen to pour out two glasses of water for him, leg twinging uncomfortably in the process. When you came back, he had spread his legs. His fingers were running over the burn on his thigh. He'd taken off the bandage, along with the other one on his calf. He drained the first glass in a matter of seconds before you handed him the second. 

“Are you sure you don't want to stay here while I get some food? You'd be waiting in the car for me anyway. . .” His response was a hard glare that made your heart ache. 

“Well uh. . .we can go now if you want to?” 

“Very well.” As he finished off the second glass of water, you went through your wardrobe to find something he could wear. You found an old pair of sweatpants and a worn-looking black t-shirt, then held them out for him to take a look at. 

“Do you think I'm going to wear those?” 

“At least the shirt. People might see you in the parking lot.” He sighed noisily, fingers beckoning you closer to pass the shirt over. Before you could hand it to him, he raised his arms above his head. For a long moment you wondered what the fuck he was doing until you realised he wanted you to help him put it on. You were sure he didn't have any injuries on his arms, he could move them without issue. 

You rested a knee on the mattress and leaned over to him sitting in the middle of the bed. Sneaking a quick peek of his back, you were glad he'd left the bandages on. There didn't seem to have been any bleeding since earlier. 

You pulled up a sleeve before slipping it over his hand and repeating the process on the other side. After the t-shirt was down his arms, you carefully slipped it over his head, managing not to pull the material right over his face. 

He looked odd in the dark shirt. Though the suit had parts shorn off and was damaged, its exquisite pattern of scales was far grander than anything you owned. He seemed rather uncomfortable in your clothes. He twisted side to side as if he was testing how it hung on his body. Everything would have been so different underwater, movement was delayed, gravity not as unforgiving as on land. 

You helped him all the way to the car, and it was strangely easier than taking him to the bedroom. Perhaps he was putting more weight on his leg, or your body just hadn't caught up with you yet. He exhaled deeply when you'd set him down into the passenger seat. After grabbing your phone and some money, you got in next to him. 

His eyes roamed around the inside of the car as if he was inspecting the design. Was this his first time in one? He seemed more relaxed than he'd ever been. There was a lightness to his eyes which could have almost been curiosity. 

“Seat belt,” you mentioned, pulling yours across your body and clicking it into place to demonstrate. He waved his hand in dismissal. Unclicking your own, you reached over to buckle him in. He grabbed onto your wrist, his grip tight and body tense. It was nothing like the hold he'd had on your throat. 

“I'm not leaving until you put it on.” 

“Atlantean strength is far superior to human frailty.” 

“It doesn't matter how strong you are. A cop will pull us over if they see you not wearing it.” 

You could already imagine the onslaught of questions, what he was wearing, his injuries, his speech. You knew he'd give himself away in a second. 

He reluctantly obeyed, clicking the belt into place but holding it away from his body. It was enough, but you disliked how he would do the absolute minimum to comply. He obviously wasn't used to taking orders. 

You drove off down the street, taking it easy as you headed to the grocery store. It would only take about fifteen minutes to get there. 

The chill in the air would have normally had you turning on the heater, but he seemed to prefer the cold. On the way back from the store, you decided you might come back the longer route along the coastal road. It was out of your way, but he might feel better being closer to home. 

“How many times have you been on land?” 

“More times than I care to admit,” he grumbled, pressing open the window like he'd been doing it his whole life. He held his hand out, fingers splayed and traipsing through the air. Glancing over to him as you drove, he was concentrating on how his shifting movements would change the air. With his fingers pressed together, his hand would be pushed back, if they were apart, he could manoeuvre more freely. 

He didn't want to engage in conversation. You had to ignore the bubbling curiosity and almost uncontainable urge to ask him anything that popped into your mind. What was Atlantis like? How does his society work? Their culture? Their language? What ways did they express themselves? How did they celebrate life? Commemorate the dead? 

You drove in a daze until you weren't far from the store. Pulling up into the lot, you parked a ways away from everyone else, wanting to reduce the chance of anyone interacting with him. People were curious, insatiably so. To find someone who looked like him, sitting by himself in a car, might draw unnecessary attention. 

You left the window open for him and ensured the stereo was off, thinking that he wouldn't appreciate the noise. 

“I won't be long,” you promised. He didn't acknowledge you leaving as he focused on people in the parking lot, the cars driving along the street, the elderly couple loading up their groceries, the tired looking mother herding two kids to the store entrance. You hurried inside, grabbing a cart along the way and going straight for the fish counter. He didn't specify what he wanted, and if you were honest, you were a little afraid to ask. 

Rather than worrying, you chose a good range, picking out several different types for him to choose from. Anything he didn't want, you could take it back. You only picked up some milk and a first aid kit even though you could do with stocking up, you didn't want to leave him alone for too long. At the checkouts, you swallowed hard at the final total before going back to the car. How were you going to afford to keep feeding him? How long would he stay?

His attention was focused elsewhere until you came right up to his window. 

“So I've got tuna steaks, salmon, pollock. . .” you trailed through your purchases, holding out each one for him to see. He took the tuna, but held it in his hands, not going to open it. 

“Did you want any of these because I can take them back and get you more tuna.” He finally looked up, pointing at a few others before dismissing the rest. You pulled out a bag from the trunk and filled it with everything he chose before stashing it behind the front seat, in case he needed something else. 

Back in the store, you had to make up a story about a particularly demanding friend who has a specific palate for fish. She raised her eyebrows at you but processed your refund without asking any questions.

After loading up the trunk with more fish, you stacked the cart and got into the car, surprised that he hadn't opened up the fish. 

“It's everywhere, isn't it?” 

“What?” 

“Plastic, you humans seem to use it for everything.” 

“Yeah. . .” you mumbled. “Unfortunately. It's pretty much impossible to avoid.” 

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head, he mumbled something under his breath but you couldn't quite catch what he said. 

“Sorry?”

“What effect did the tidal waves have?”

“Um. . .well. . .there's more pressure on the government to actually do something about the waste going into the oceans. I think they're talking about new legislation coming in soon to curb the use of plastics. But it's um. . .not going to change all at once.” He seemed disappointed at your words. 

“People are still trying to deny you exist as well, even after what happened. They keep calling it a natural phenomena.” You smiled at him, trying to lighten up the conversation. His eyes were downcast, fingers tightening against the plastic wrapping. You didn't know what to say, merely turned on the ignition and began the longer drive back. It took a good ten minutes for him to finally open up the tuna and take a bite. 

“This has been frozen,” he grumbled in irritation. You wondered if he was going to spit it out from the look on his face. 

“It's the best they had. I can take you to the fish market tomorrow morning.” He hummed in agreement before reluctantly eating the tuna. He must have been hungry. He carefully folded up the packaging, telling you to dispose of it properly. 

It was less than a mile to the coastal road now. With the window open you could smell the salty tang of the ocean. 

“We should have arrived at your home by now.” 

“Oh I thought we'd take the coastal road back.” 

“For what purpose?” In your peripheral vision, you could see he had turned to face you. His hair kept getting blown around but it didn't seem to bother him.

“I guess I thought it might make you. . .” 

“Make me what?” 

“Feel better? Being closer to home? I don't know. It. . .it won't take long to get back to my house.” You should have known it would be a stupid idea. Why would he take it as a kind gesture? 

As you drove along the windy bends, you spotted a police car up ahead that was parked just off the road. Your heart sank, realising where you were. 

“What?” He asked angrily, noticing the slight change in your expression. 

“It's where I found you.” You slowed the car down, noticing that two officers were on the beach. You swore under your breath. 

“I left my boots and my jeans behind. They might think someone went in the water.” You felt guilty knowing that they were wasting their time, but mentioning anything to them was an impossibility. 

“Why didn't you clean up after yourself?” 

“I was busy trying to save your life.” 

“You should not have interfered, surface dweller.” Your grip tightened on the steering wheel, unable to keep the anger from bubbling up inside you. 

“Well I fucking did, okay!” You half-shouted, not understanding why he was being so cruel. You hadn't thought about the stupid boots or jeans, you were concerned about saving his life. What the fuck was he talking about? 

When you got home, you helped him inside, taking him straight to the bedroom. His pace was slow, and he held onto your hand like he did before. You sucked in a breath when your leg twinged in pain as you carried him, your step almost faltering. There was something off about his expression when you laid him out onto the bed. 

Not wanting to ask what was wrong, you loaded up the refrigerator with all the fish, along with the milk before swallowing down some painkillers. Even the most expensive fish in that store wasn't good enough for him. The packaging said nothing about it being frozen. What were you supposed to do? Why did he expect so much from you? You filled up two glasses of water for him, placing them on the bedside table and wondering whether you had the stomach to eat a late lunch. 

“There is someone who I must contact,” he muttered, stopping you from leaving. 

“Okay. . .” 

“His name is Tom Curry, he is a lighthouse keeper.” 

“Do you know his number? Or how to contact him?” He stared at you blankly. “Do you know where he lives?” 

“That is all the information I know.” You stared at him exasperated, but forced yourself to remember that he didn't understand how things worked for humans. 

“I can try but I. . .” How could you explain to him how complicated this would be? How practically impossible it would be to find someone from a name and an occupation? How you didn't have access to databases or a population census?

“I'll try my best,” you murmured, leaving the room. It took a while to grasp what he'd asked of you. Grabbing your laptop, you settled onto the sofa and began to scour the internet. 

The next few hours were spent searching for Tom Curry, lighthouse keeper. You'd found that the problem with lighthouse keepers was that most of them were off grid. There was a website that must have been made in the nineties about the role of lighthouse keepers and their history. Surprisingly there was a contact number on one of the webpages, and you hesitated for a moment, wondering if they might be dead. You called the number, knowing there was nothing to lose. 

A chatty old lady answered the phone and kept talking at you for ten minutes before you managed to politely escape the call. As you'd suspected, her husband died over a decade ago, but she still gets the occasional caller enquiring about his website. Then you found an association of lighthouse keepers, but it was more about preserving its heritage and continuing to educate people about their significance. 

No longer able to ignore your growling stomach, you realised how late it was and had a quick dinner. After cleaning up, you prepared some fish for him, hoping he wouldn't flatly refuse it like last time. He was sleeping, laid out on his side, so you turned to head back to the kitchen. 

“Do not leave,” he ordered. He sat up on the bed and you handed the plate to him, taking the glasses to refill. He'd nearly finished the food by the time you came back. 

“Do you want some more?” 

“I will wait until the morning.” You nodded in response, awkwardly standing by the bed. 

“I haven't managed to find him yet but. . .who should I say is looking for him?” 

“Atlanna's son.” You nodded slowly, wondering why you felt so disappointed that he still hadn't told you his name. But then had you ever explicitly asked? 

“And what is his name?” 

"Orm."


	3. Cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thankyou so much for all your kudos and comments, I'm really glad you're enjoying this story. I love Orm's character so much and exploring him has been such great fun. Let me know your thoughts and please enjoy this next installment!

Something hardened in his expression after you told him your own name. He turned away, eyes avoiding yours like he just remembered he was talking to a surface dweller. 

“I will heal faster in water,” he told you sternly, easily shaking off the personal moment you'd just shared. 

“I have a bath. It's small, but you should fit.”

“It will suffice.” 

“I'll start running it for you.” It was faster filling up the bath with cold rather than hot water. You didn't have to play around with the faucets to get the temperature just right. After helping him into the bathroom and onto the edge of the tub, you felt exhausted. Your arms and shoulders hurt from taking most of his weight. You'd wait until just before you went to sleep to take some more painkillers. 

He held his arms up, meaning for you to take his shirt off. When you complied, you purposefully let the material drag across his face. He glared at you only for a brief moment before he lowered himself into the bath. You headed off to grab some towels for him, and when you came back he was fully submerged with his eyes closed. He'd lost the tension in his face. 

Orm suddenly looked at you, so you showed him the towels, placing them on the edge of the tub before awkwardly waving goodbye. 

It was unsettling seeing someone function normally while being completely submerged. He seemed more at peace in the water. It was difficult to get your head around. It might have been a little easier if he had gills or some sort of obvious aquatic adaptation, but he looked as human as you, if not more so. There was a classic beauty to him, like he belonged amongst the great sculptures from ancient times. 

You kept searching the internet for Tom Curry and found contact numbers of people who were lighthouse keepers themselves. One of them hung up after you enquired about Curry. Another got irritated, going on about how many lighthouse keepers there were across the world, how they didn't all know each other. One of them even got angry, telling you he couldn't give out personal information, how he wouldn't even tell you if he knew. 

You had to try a different tact. When you called the next person on the list, you gave a fake name, explaining that you worked as a hospital admin, and that you needed to urgently contact Tom Curry. You continued by saying that his son had been in an accident and that the record of his emergency contact had been lost. 

“I do apologise for calling and I completely understand patient confidentiality, but if I don't find his number by my next shift, my boss is going to fire me. I accidentally shredded the emergency contact information. I've only been in the job a week and the paperwork system here is an absolute mess, their colour coding doesn't make any goddamn sense! If you could help me, I would really. . .really appreciate it.” 

The lady on the other end finally agreed, much to your relief, and took your number down. Sighing heavily, you sprawled out on the sofa for a few minutes before deciding to call it a night. You stripped off the sheets on the bed and replaced them with fresh ones before going to the bathroom to brush your teeth. 

You stuttered to a halt, hand grabbing onto the door frame, eyes widening in fear. Orm was in the water, and wasn't moving. You had to remind yourself that he wasn't dead, he was just sleeping. After brushing your teeth and taking the painkillers, you were uncertain about using the toilet even though it was the only one in the house. You didn't want to wake him up, nor did you want him catching an eyeful. Would he be horrified? Start ranting about the impropriety and uncivilised nature of surface dwellers? Batten down the hatches, you used the toilet and thankfully he didn't stir. You groaned in comfort when you slid into the bed, and set your alarm early for the fish market tomorrow. 

\- - -

When the alarm woke you in the morning, you automatically snoozed the first few times until you realised you needed to actually get up. The fish market started early, and it would take a good hour to get there.

In the bathroom, Orm was asleep, face more serene than you'd ever seen it. He'd taken off the top part of his suit and had pulled it down to his hips. You had only a fleeting moment to take him in and take note of the numerous scars across his skin before his eyes opened and he sat up. 

His hands clenched onto the bath as he purged all the water from his lungs. It looked more than uncomfortable, it looked wrong, like you were seeing something that wasn't meant to happen. He sucked in raspy breaths as his body adapted to the air. His fingers ran over his head, slicking the hair back. 

“We should leave soon so we can get to the fish market in time.” Before you could hand him a towel, he asked if you had a comb. When you'd found one, he stared vacantly at you when you held it out for him. 

“Am I not your guest?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you not my host?” 

“I guess. . .” 

“Is it not the host's responsibility to take care of the guest's needs?” You let the words sink in, trying to work out what he was getting at. 

“You want me to. . .comb your hair?” His eyebrows raised and his head shook slightly as if it was completely obvious that it was what you were meant to do. “Perhaps in your culture, but not mine.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Usually hosts take care of housing, feeding and entertaining their guests, but combing their hair? Maybe in some human cultures, but in mine it's seen as intimate, something between parent and child, or partners I suppose.” 

“Then you will see me as a partner.” 

“I meant. . .lovers, people who are intimate in that way.” 

“Can you not see me that way because I am not human?” 

“What? No, no of course not.” 

“Well then. . .” he muttered, gesturing to the comb and turning his head to the side. Your mouth gaped open, had he just- 

Shaking your head, you decided to concede this round, knowing that he could probably spend hours arguing his case. You began to comb his surprisingly matted hair, working from above the base of his neck before going upwards. 

“The real question should be. . .can you see me that way because I am human?” You asked, working through his hair and combing it how he'd pushed it back. You muttered an apology when you pulled too hard, forcing his head to tilt backwards. It took a while for him to reply, you couldn't see the expression on his face as he was turned away from you. 

“My mother she. . .took interest in a surface dweller,” he admitted, a sadness in his tone. 

“I'm guessing you weren't happy about that?” 

“No. I did not forgive her for many years. But she is. . .happy. I would never begrudge her that.” 

“She's with Tom Curry, isn't she?” 

“Yes.” 

“Atlanna's a cool name, so is yours. Do you have surnames or a family name?” 

“Marius,” he admitted, something off in his tone. 

“Do you have a nickname? Or do you like being called just Orm?” You were about done, the comb went through his hair without issue. 

“Nicknames are for pets and mounts.” 

“I'm sorry, mounts?” 

“Sharks, dragons and such. I prefer the tylosaurus.”

“The what?” 

“That is sufficient,” he told you, shifting away from you before pulling the suit back on. 

“Let me help,” you muttered, helping him avoid the wound in his back. It was so form-fitting that it must have been difficult to put on even without any injuries. 

Before you could help him out of the bath, he pulled himself up onto one leg, leaning heavily against the tiled wall as he stood. You told him to sit on the edge of the tub and swing his legs out rather than try to climb out. You wrapped a towel around his shoulders and dried his legs and feet to save him from doing it himself. The burn on his calf looked better, but the one of his thigh had been more severe and didn't appear to have healed much. 

His back was much improved, the scabs were extensive and there wasn't any sign of bleeding. You thought it would be better to cover and keep the wound protected for now. He didn't protest when you retrieved the med kit and put new bandages on. As you grabbed the black shirt for him to wear again, you hesitated before offering it to him. 

“You didn't answer my question, about whether you could see me in that way because I'm human.” He seemed to consider you carefully, eyes gracing across your body like a complete examination. 

“It is not the physicality of surface dwellers that makes you repellent, but your actions, your ignorance, your need to destroy yourselves and take the world with you.” You were taken back by his grandiose response. He was adept at avoiding questions, using his own previously designated answers to curb the direction of conversation to his will, regardless if it was irrelevant to the original point. It was like how politicians talked, they never precisely answered questions, merely rebutted with something vaguely related. 

Rather than continue the discussion, you slid the shirt over him before helping him into the car. It was still dark out, the morning air was still and crisp. You went back inside to put on a coat and a hat, assuming that he might want the windows down, or at the very least he'd be adverse to the heater. 

Forgoing breakfast as you'd wasted enough time already, you picked up a snack for the ride and a few bottles of water for Orm, along with the cooler box for the fish. Turning on your engine had never seemed so loud with the almost silence of the street. As you drove off, you glanced over to him, surprised that you didn't have to remind him to put the seat belt on. 

“Human physicality isn't repellent to you, right? So could you see us as potential partners?” 

“You're very persistent to determine whether I find you attractive.” 

“You're very persistent in not answering my questions,” you rebutted, slowing the car down as you went round a corner. “You think that I'm unaware of you emotionally manipulating me, trying to make me uncomfortable and ignore what we're actually talking about? So can you see humans in that way? Like your mother does?” You wondered if you'd pushed too far, but you thought that if he was going to use emotional manipulation, you might as well return the favour. 

“It would not be an impossibility.” 

“That's vague.”

“It is a fact.” 

“Facts can be vague. It's like saying we are moving. Technically it's correct but it doesn't really mean anything, does it?” He didn't answer back immediately which had you looking over to him. In the low light of the gauges, you swore you could make out amusement in his expression.

“Are you. . .attempting to debate me in philosophy?”

“Would that be bad?” 

“It would be ill-advised.” 

“Is that a fact too?” Turning to him again, he was smiling. It was a small smile, there was almost something tender about it. He noticed you staring and the smile immediately faded. 

“How long will this journey take?” 

“Less than an hour. The fish market is in a small town up north, I've only been there a few times.” 

The conversation lulled into silence and you almost felt as if making him smile had been wrong from the way he reacted. Maybe you were the first surface dweller he'd actually interacted with. Maybe that's why he seemed to feel guilty. With all his preconceived notions of how terrible humans were, having a friendly conversation with one would undoubtedly feel wrong to him.

It would take him time, you'd have to patient in the meantime. Everything that was familiar to you was utterly foreign to him. Not just the car, or the house, but the land, the atmosphere, the skies, the very air you took for granted, it must have been so alien to him. 

A good ten miles later, you tried to entice him back into conversation, telling him about the fish market when you'd been there before, asking him what he wanted you to buy. His responses were brief and clipped, and then he decided to drink a whole bottle of water merely to delay his reply.

You took the hint, and drove the rest of way quietly, eyes becoming tired from concentrating on the dark, winding roads. It started to get light by the time you arrived. The town was desolate, but the closer you got to the market and the marina, the more activity there was. 

You parked on the curb a street over from the market as it was the closest you could get. Wiping your eyes and stretching out your legs, you muttered a goodbye before heading off. There were stands with ice layered at the bottom with the fish on top, some stands had tanks, others had large buckets. One of the traders looked at you for a moment too long when you walked past, he was probably wondering who the stranger was. The market seemed like a place where everyone knew everyone.

You spotted some fresh tuna and managed to barter a good price, adding in a few live crabs and lobsters to your purchase. Couldn't get any fresher than something still wriggling. The woman mentioned that she hadn't seen you before, so you rambled about starting your own restaurant, wanting to figure out suppliers, test out the local food.

It was awkward carrying it all back to the car, with the lobsters and crabs moving about in the bag. Orm was watching you carefully as you approached. You handed him the bag through the window, commenting that these definitely hadn't been frozen. 

“Do you mean to insult me with these?” he asked, disgust laced in his tone as he observed the lobsters and crabs. 

“Insult you?” 

“These creatures are eaten by lowborns.” 

“I got them because they were fresh,” you muttered, putting all the tuna into the cooler box. You took the bag from him and headed back to the lady you'd bought them from. She reluctantly exchanged them for some tuna, leaving you to wonder if you'd been swindled. As you scoured the market for more fish, you wondered why Orm had said that. Did that mean he wasn't lowborn? Did Atlanteans have some sort of caste system?

After buying more, you took it all back to the car, realising that it probably wasn't going to fit in the refrigerator. All the fish you'd bought at the store would probably have to be frozen, you couldn't just waste it. 

Getting back into the car, Orm was helping himself to the tuna, seemingly unconcerned about eating the scales or the bones. The sun was almost up, so you decided to park up somewhere by the water so you could see the sun rise. You drove several miles from the town before finding a good spot. 

When you pulled out the snack to eat, he asked you why you'd stopped. Taking a bite, you made sure to take your time chewing so he'd have to wait for a response. He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips in impatience. 

“I'm hungry. . .and I guess I thought we could enjoy the view while we're here.” 

You took your time eating the snack, wanting this moment to last so you'd have an excuse not to drive back just yet. The clouds were marred by orange and golden light and the sun was barely hovering above the horizon. How much of human life had been dictated by the sun, by the stars and the skies? How did Atlanteans measure time if not by the sun? How different would their culture be? Did they ever dream beyond the stars? Beyond the limitations of this planet? 

There were so many questions you wanted to ask him. You'd eaten as slowly as you could but you'd finally finished, so you took a good long look at the sunrise. You tried to memorise all the different colours before driving off and settling yourself in for a quiet journey. 

“Have you contacted Tom Curry yet?” 

“Sorry, not yet. I'll let you know as soon as I do.” 

“That would be appreciated.” Was that almost a thanks? For a brief moment you wondered whether his fish had been poisoned. 

“Your mom's probably gonna be surprised you're staying with a surface dweller, huh?” You tried to joke, assuming he'd end the conversation with some sort of insult. 

“That reaction appears to be likely.” The response wasn't what you expected. Maybe the food had put him in a better mood. You couldn't think of what else to say after he'd agreed with you. To your surprise he spoke again. “She will also thank you for the assistance you have provided.” 

“It's okay. I couldn't not, you know?” 

“Couldn't not?” 

“I just sorta. . .ran when I saw you in the ocean.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why did you run?” 

“I don't know. . .I had to make sure you were okay.” 

“Even at your own risk?”

“You weren't that far out.” 

“That does not answer my question.” 

“It was a calculated risk. It all worked out, right?” 

“Your lack of self-preservation is concerning.” 

“Concerned about me, hmm?”

“That is an exaggeration. I was merely stating that-” 

“I was just kidding. I know you don't care about me.” He didn't reply for a good minute. You shifted your grip of the steering wheel, and tried to relax into the seat more after suddenly feeling hyper aware of yourself.

“That is not entirely true.” 

“What?” 

“You have tried your best to accommodate my needs despite the obvious differences between us, and despite. . .the way I have acted.”

“It really must have been poisoned,” you mumbled under your breath. 

“I'm sorry?” 

“Nothing just. . . wasn't expecting a thankyou.”

“I did not actually thank you.” You chucked softly, understanding that his politeness had its limits. 

“Well your mom can do that for you.” 

\- - -

When you were back home, you helped Orm inside onto the sofa and loaded up the refrigerator with fish, moving most of what you'd previously bought into the freezer. You filled up two glasses of water, handing one to Orm and putting the other on the floor next to him. You settled down next to him on the sofa. 

You turned on the TV and changed the channel over to the local news, wanting to check if there was a story about a person suspected to have gone missing after police found discarded clothes on the beach. Thankfully there wasn't anything about it. 

You put on the national news, keeping the volume down low for Orm. There was a segment about it being a hundred days since the mass tidal waves had brought all the trash and warships out from the ocean. 

The reporter seamlessly glanced over the cause of the tidal waves instead focusing on the clean up effort that was still underway. 

“They're still denying you even exist.”

“Negotiations between Atlantis and the surface world have been under way since the attack. I presume that your governments wish to control the situation rather than admit to an enemy much more powerful than themselves.” 

“Are you our enemy?” You asked, turning away from the TV to look at him. 

“Though our. . .new leadership would say otherwise, decades of resentment against the surface world can not be ignored. Especially as the crimes committed against us remain unpunished.” 

“But do you see me as an enemy?” 

“You are an insignificant part of a much larger problem, one that I had not appreciated in its complexity.” 

“So that's a yes?” 

“Though I do not approve of your continual use of plastics, I realise that it is endemic to human society.” 

You didn't look away from him as you waited for an actual reply.

“The answer is no. You are. . .the closest thing I have to an ally on the surface world.” 

“Well I hope I can be more than just your ally one day.” 

“Are you propositioning me?” 

“What? No I just meant that maybe we'd be-” His low chuckle interrupted you, his eyes were bright with amusement. You smiled in response, looking back to the TV as your cheeks reddened. How was this pretty bastard able to affect you so much? It was almost as if he was flirting. No, no, it was just him trying to make you feel uncomfortable so he'd have the upper hand. Emotional manipulation, that's all it was. 

You watched the news for a little while before turning over the channel to a documentary on space flight, thinking that it might have been of interest to him. When you grabbed your laptop to do some more research for Tom Curry, he seemed rather intrigued by it, eyes not shifting over to you when you sat back down. 

You scoured through some internet forums on lighthouse keepers, and sent a few messages to people even though their posts were months old. The morning passed surprisingly quickly.

It was past noon when you couldn't ignore your stomach rumbling any longer. You sliced up some fish for Orm and when you handed him the plate he nodded his head in thanks rather than look at you in disapproval. After eating your own lunch, you thought maybe the both of you could have fish for dinner. You spent the afternoon continuing your research while Orm watched the TV. 

When he asked you for the remote, he began to use it immediately, as if it was something he was familiar with. He'd obviously been studying you using it. 

It was like he wasn't allowed to use something hesitantly. He only excelled, he only did things he knew he'd succeed at. You couldn't quite grasp the ramifications of how he could perceive the world in that way, where mastery of all his skills was paramount, where showing weakness or hesitation was not an option. In the corner of your eye, you could see him fidgeting. He'd stretched out his legs, and then moved them back towards the sofa, face twitching in discomfort. You really didn't want to move, or sit on the floor. Propping the laptop on the arm rest, you slapped your knee twice, telling him to give you his legs. 

“For what purpose?” He asked warily.

“So you can be more comfortable.” He gave you a look of disbelief and didn't move until you shifted towards him and reached out for his legs. You were careful to avoid the burns on both legs, on his calf and thigh, and pulled them over your lap. As you handed him another pillow, he exhaled heavily, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. 

“Better?” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you knew he was more comfortable. 

You were certain you'd go numb at some point. Half an hour must have passed when your legs were really starting to ache. You moved him further up your thighs and were surprised that he hadn't murmured. You couldn't help the smile pulling up your cheeks when you saw him fast asleep. 

You researched throughout the afternoon, compiling a list of numbers to ring when he was awake. When it was time for dinner, you carefully lifted him off and almost lost your balance as you stood. You had to hop over to the kitchen and latch onto the counter as you braced through pins and needles. 

“What's wrong?” He asked, voice low and cracking slightly after just waking up.

“Pins and needles,” you replied through clenched teeth. It worked up your leg and every slight movement was painful.

“Where?” You jumped when you felt hands on your waist, forcing you to stumble forward and put your full weight on your bad leg. You cried out in discomfort and managed to lift your leg back off the floor, looking round to see Orm standing behind you. 

“What are you doing!” You half-shouted as he pulled his arms back to his sides. 

“You're injured.” 

“I'm fine, just sit down.” 

“Where are they?” 

“What?” 

“The pins and needles?” You let out an exasperated sigh. 

“It's just an expression, I'm sorry. My leg hurts but it will pass in a minute. Can you sit down now?” He complied after a moment's hesitation. 

“I'm not familiar with that phrase.” 

“When people sit down for too long, or in an awkward position, sometimes they'll feel a sensation of pricking like there were pins and needles stabbing at their skin. It doesn't last that long, it's just uncomfortable.” He watched you for the next minute as the pins and needles gradually subsided and you managed to move over to the seat opposite him. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, he nodded in reply as he rubbed at his thigh. “I'm really sorry about that.” 

“It is not your fault to have been born in such a weak vessel.” 

“Do you want some food while you're here?” 

“If you will.” 

You prepped more fish for him to eat before frying your own, making up a quick salad to eat on the side. He'd long since finished by the time you sat down, and he eyed your dinner with less revulsion than you'd expected. 

“Do you want to try some?” He pondered for a few moments before acquiescing and gesturing to his plate. You cut up a small piece for him, which stayed on the plate for a while as he mulled over the decision. You tucked into your food in the meantime. When he finally ate it, he seemed more disappointed than anything.

“It is not what I'd expected.” He declined when you offered him some more, so you supposed that answered your unspoken question of whether he liked it or not. You gave him some more uncooked fish when he asked, and decided you would need to head back to the market in a few days at this rate. 

As you cleaned and washed the dishes, he said he'd need to sleep in water again. You gave the bath a quick rinse before filling it up and telling yourself you'd shower in the morning. When it was ready, you helped Orm up from the chair, wrapping his arm around the back of your neck. Before you could move, he turned inwards slightly to get closer to you. His fingers gently ran over your throat.

“You're healing faster than I'd imagined.” His breath was cool on your skin, his eyes were softer than you'd ever seen them. You shuddered at his touch, unable to muster any words. He pulled away from you a moment later and stood at your side. 

You half-carried him to the bathroom in a complete daze. After helping him onto the edge of the tub, you heard your phone ring and rushed to answer it, thankful for the distraction. 

It was the lady you'd spoken to yesterday. You got a pen and some paper to jot down Tom Curry's number before thanking her several times over. You proudly waved the piece of paper at him when you hurried back to the bathroom.

“I found Tom's number, I'm going to call it now, okay?” He nodded, but there was something almost hesitant about his expression, like he was suddenly unsure. Before you could double-check with him, it started ringing the other end so you passed him the phone. 

“Hello?” Tom answered, you could just about hear him. 

“Where is my mother?” 

“Orm? Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I wish to speak to her.” 

“She and Arthur have been so worried about you, hang on a sec. Atlanna!” Tom went quiet on the line, and Orm looked up at you with a tense expression. You felt like you were intruding so you left him to it and closed the door behind you. 

You could hear him reassuring his mother that he was okay. He sounded different, he'd lost the judgemental air that always marred his words. You headed back to the kitchen, and resumed cleaning to avoid eavesdropping. His deep voice reverberated through the walls, but the words were muffled and mostly incomprehensible. 

When you'd finished, he was still talking so you turned on some music to give him privacy. You adjusted the bass until it was on its lowest setting. Laying down on the sofa, you pressed your face against the pillow and breathed in a heady, salty scent. You pulled away, realising that it was from Orm. Fuck, he smelt good. Taking it in again, you swore under your breath and laid out on the sofa. 

You remembered the way his fingers caressed your throat, the utter focus he had, the absolute attention he gave you, you wanted him to do it again. Clenching your fists, you turned up the music slightly and went to the kitchen for a strong drink. You chugged down a few fingers worth, wincing at the taste. Deciding to give the kitchen a proper scrub down to keep yourself busy, you kept drinking intermittently until you'd got a good buzz going. 

When a song had finished, and there was a brief moment of silence, you couldn't hear him say anything. You slowly approached the bathroom and softly knocked on the door. 

There wasn't a response so you peeked inside, seeing that he was asleep in the water. Your phone was resting on the side of the sink along with the bandages that had covered his back wound. You closed the door behind you, wondering if his mother was going to come and get him in the morning, feeling almost adrift at the thought. 

\- - - 

The first thing you saw when you woke up was Orm sitting at the end of your bed, his body turned away from you, his focus on something in his hands. It took a few moments for your body to react, the ache rolled up through your chest before finally settling in your gut. His hair was wet and slicked back, but the rest of him looked dry. How long had he been there? What did he have in his hands? 

“What's wrong?” 

“You made noises in your sleep,” he commented, as if he was telling you it was cloudy outside. 

“Oh uh. . .sorry.” You sat up in the bed trying to recall what you'd been dreaming about, but you didn't have a clue, your mind was blank. How much noise did you make? You shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed that you'd woken him up. 

“How's your mom?”

“She's well, better that she knows of my well-being.” He hadn't turned around to acknowledge you and he was still playing with something in his hands. 

“Is she gonna come get you?” 

“She has told me to remain here until I have healed adequately.” 

“You're welcome to stay as long as you want.” 

“Another proposition?” He asked, looking around at you, amusement in his eyes. 

You breathed out a laugh and shook your head before he handed you a comb. You crawled over to him on your knees and began to comb through his hair. This was obviously something of a routine for him. Did his mother do this for him? Did his lovers? Was it too personal to ask? 

You rested a hand on his head to stop it from being pulled back like you did before. Your fingers dug further into his hair when you worked through a particularly stubborn clump by his ear. A low noise escaped his lips. 

“Sorry, did I get you?” You combed a little slower, but he never replied to you. 

When you finished, he remained still and barely acknowledged you when you stood in front of him. 

“Are you hungry?” He nodded, hand coming up to his face to wipe down his jaw. You suggested that he should lie down before leaving to fetch breakfast. 

You were used to him purposefully ignoring you, but it was like he was too distracted by something he was thinking about. When you came back, he was still sitting on the edge of the bed. Holding out the plate for him didn't provoke a response. 

“Orm?” He finally registered that you were there. 

“Thankyou,” he replied, taking the plate and fork. You stood motionless for a few moments in shock before remembering his water. He had tucked into his fish when you came back with two large glasses. As he was halfway through drinking one of the glasses, you asked what was wrong with him. 

“Did something happen with your mom? You're acting strange.” 

“Strange?”

“You thanked me.” 

“And that's cause for concern?” 

“For you? Yeah it is.” He pressed his lips together, taking a little while to reply. 

“My mother reminded me of the current. . .position I find myself in, and urged me to appreciate it while possible.” You nodded slowly as he finished off his glass of water. You grabbed some clean clothes and waited until he'd finished eating before taking the plate and fork back to the kitchen. 

As he wasn't in the bathroom, you took the time to take a quick shower before having some breakfast. You wondered how long he'd been in your room, sitting there listening to whatever noises you were making. It should have unsettled you more than it actually did. 

Your phone started buzzing, distracting you from your thoughts, your boss was calling. It had felt like a month since you'd been at work, you'd broken away from the every day grind and you really didn't want to go back anytime soon, even though you had to. Letting it go to voicemail, you listened to the message he'd left. Your boss was threatening that if you didn't return to work on Monday that he'd be forced to take disciplinary action. What a bastard, what part of family emergency didn't he fucking understand? You'd ring him later. Fuck it, you'd ring him tomorrow maybe. 

You distracted yourself with more cleaning and put the trash outside. The next door neighbour walked past with Momo, her German shepherd. You greeted her and scratched Momo behind the ears. 

“I'm surprised to see you, aren't you normally at work?”

“Oh yeah, I just took a few days off.” 

“With anyone special?” She asked, her eyes flicking over to the house. Shit, had she seen Orm? Goddammit, she was nosy.

“Yeah, I've got my friend staying with me for a while actually. How's Billy's back doing by the way? I hope he's doing better.” 

“Still not great, but he's getting there alright.” You fussed Momo and muddled through a little more conversation before saying goodbye. Normally you'd take no notice of her prying and her appetite for gossip, but with Orm you had to be careful, you couldn't arose suspicion. 

“Have fun with your friend,” she told you, taking Momo down the street. 

You watched her head off for a few moments, an ache clenching at your heart. You had felt an acute bleakness at her words, knowing that she was wrong, that he wasn't your friend. He'd been discourteous, standoffish, argumentative, but he was growing on you. You knew it was all armour, having that harsh exterior, in particular because you were human, something he was meant to despise. But you'd seen the cracks in his facade, you could see him becoming more comfortable, being more open, smiling, laughing, even teasing you. You truly wanted him to be more than just an ally, you had hoped that you could be someone he could rely on, someone he could trust. 

You wished that she was right and that he was your friend.


End file.
